Noonvale
by Clara Maplewood
Summary: You know how usually, Redwall prologues have all this stuff about the good guys and how they started out? This is harsh, I'll warn you, but please give me your honest opinion of it...more to come.
1. Takmar's Legacy

  
  
Takmar stood rigidly outside the tent. The ferret knew his wife was inside, giving birth to a young one, but he also knew that it was his responsibility to accept or reject the babe. He cursed himself silently, or rather; he cursed his heart, so soft when it came to young creatures. His roving band could not stand many more slowing them down, so the only young accepted were the ones without defect who showed sign of strength and cunning. The defective ones were cast adrift in the waves in a watertight box. Some fooled themselves into believing that these "drifters," as they were called, would be found by some other vermin band. Others feared that they would come back someday for vengeance. Takmar grimaced as he remembered the truth: being thrown into the ocean without food or water, the only shelter a wooden box, would be a death sentence for anybeast so young.   
If only Ublaz still had control of the island! If only those wretched Abbeybeasts hadn't destroyed the empire, leaving Sampetra an empty shell! Takmar spat on the ground as if on an enemy. It was all the fault of the crown...no, the six empty spaces on the crown...if not for the empty spaces, Takmar wouldn't have to be standing there, waiting to turn away or welcome his own child.   
Suddenly, the old pine marten midwife came out, carrying a sailcloth bundle in her feeble paws. Takmar reached forward tremblingly and opened the bundle.   
What he saw was a tiny ferretmaid, lashing out at the world with her claws and crying as if she had just grasped a red-hot poker. That wasn't all...he gasped as he noted her startling coloring. Her eyes were so dark brown they were almost black, with bright yellow spots around them, and this abnormal coloring pattern continued throughout her body. Takmar felt his eyes sting with tears as they roamed over the scrawny limbs and drooping ears...aside from the color defect, this babe was not strong. He slowly turned his back on the midwife, who dropped her bundle roughly into the waiting box and sealed off the lid.   
The last Takmar heard of his daughter was her, howling her anger at the night, as she was thrown into the turbulent sea.   



	2. Milady

Tseeeer. Tseeeeer.   
  
The horrible sound of onyx grinding on stone came from within the tent. The frantic stoat captain was in the process of tearing a barkcloth bag to shreds between his paws, waiting to be called in.   
  
Tseeeer. Tseeeer.   
  
Rumors flew around the whole vermin inhabitance of the world of this creature that he was about to face. That she was cruel beyond all measure yet cared for her daughter like a woodlander. That her cutlass had been forged from onyx, with topazes stolen from the heart of a northern mountain embedded in the hilt. That she had, in her vast travels, gathered more vermin than anybeast had ever seen, always known by their black and yellow bandanas. That nobeast had ever heard her real and true voice because it was as inconstant as a fox.   
  
Tseeeeer. Tseeeeeer.   
  
And he, Fangtear, had to give her bad news. He laughed gratingly at the pure irony of his luck. He had finished with the bag and had reached up to his already tattered ear when the grinding stopped. A high, gentle voice came from within.   
  
"Come in, Fangtear. Please report."   
  
He gulped, but then relaxed. Nobeast with such a beautiful voice could be cruel as all that. The stoat swaggered in hastily and bowed low until he saw a black blade gesture upward. The sight that met his eyes was unlike any he had seen before. There was a tall, slender female ferret standing before him, with seemingly black eyes and fur, with large yellow spots all over her body. She wore a crude vest of old leather and a pair of pants made from the same leather. Even though she was built rather delicately, she radiated a sense of power and confidence.  
  
"Milady...the scouts have returned."   
  
She tested the cutlass blade with one paw. "And?"   
  
"There is good news and bad," he mumbled, fiddling with his bandana. "We have discovered a colony of crows a few days' walk to the East."   
  
"Good, good." Suddenly, her eyes glowed with a fire exactly like a coal.   
"And what of the bad news?"   
  
His scrawny throat bulged as he gulped. "Y-yes...milady..."   
  
"Well, what is it?"   
  
"W-w-we...t-tried to overcome them...give them a ch- a chance to surrender, b-b-but they dropped stones on our heads, and we lost a number in the s-scuffle...milady." He added hastily.   
  
"I see. Well, how many lost?"  
  
"O-only twenty-three out of a band of one hundred, milady."   
  
"Hmm. I see." She turned her gaze back to her cutlass and polished it furiously.   
  
"S-so, you aren't angry?"   
  
"Merely disappointed, captain. A group of fine vermin such as I sent with you...how did you manage to lose twenty-three?"   
  
There was no response. Through Fangtear's head ran embarrassing scenes of hordebeasts running amok after the first stone was cast. He couldn't get away from this.   
  
"I see. Well, I must say, I truly am disappointed. Now I must find twenty-three other creatures who are as good as the twenty-three lost through your blundering troop."   
  
"So...there will be no punishment?"   
  
"How do you like my cutlass? I've just sharpened it, you know."   
  
"Have you, milady?"   
  
"Indeed I have. Would you like to see it?" She held it out in her left paw.   
  
Stupidly, he reached out a paw to touch it.   
  
"I do love breaking in a new edge." There was a flash of topaz and onyx.   
  
The last thing Fangtear heard was "Twenty-four."   
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Marlingah Reah and the Crow

The wrinkled old paws of Marlinga Reah trembled in the tight knot her captors had tied about them. The ancient vole sat in the corner of her cell, bound both paw and footpaw, and remembered better times. She had been the leader of Noonvale for generations, and kept peaceful the beautiful place. Until, she thought with a shudder, until these horrible crows invaded.   
  
Nobeast knew how they had found Noonvale, but they had, and shattered the peace in the process. Their leader, Mercrov, had a heart as black as his feathers, yet constantly spouted sayings about honor in a very old-fashioned tongue. Marlinga attempted to make herself comfortable in the tiny cell as she remembered the slaughter that had accompanied Mercrov's arrival; Noonvale had no troops, no weapons, and no fighting skills. And why would they? There hadn't been any need...until now.   
  
A sharp rap on the door and a rude voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mercrov wishes to speak to you!"  
  
Her voice was a feeble, reedy cry. "Please come and help me to my footpaws; I cannot move in these bonds."   
  
Derisive laughter came from the other side, but the door opened and a crow came in, heaving her roughly to her feet. She thanked him, but he only severed the rope tying her footpaws together and shoved her rudely with his beak. She made her slow way forward until coming to Mercrov's hideously decorated tent. Marlinga had to wrench her eyes shut as she walked in, so as not to burst into tears at the sight of her old friends' paws dangling morosely from the doorway.  
  
Mercrov himself sat on a large leather chair, black feathers glistening with oil and grease. He gobbled down a plateful of candied chestnuts stolen from a babe's paws. "Be ye the Queen of old?"   
  
She would have laughed at his quaint speech if she didn't know about his cruel interior. "Yes, I am the leader of Noonvale."   
  
"Am? Thou darest claim leadership? Even whilst I sit on thy throne and eat thy food and speak down to thee?" He laughed throatily. "Thou art a fool, old one. Hast thou enough sense to now reveal to me, the leader of Talonperch..."   
  
"It is called Noonvale and you know it!" Marlinga said, quietly yet defiantly.   
  
"The leader of Talonperch the whereabouts of the great treasure?"   
  
"There is no great treasure, Mercrov."   
  
"Fool! Thou liest! I am merciful, so I shall ask thee once again: Where be the treasure?"  
  
"And I shall tell you again, you foul bird, there is no treasure!" Marlinga exhausted herself in the defiant effort.   
  
Mercrov threw his empty plate at her, and it knocked her head so hard she passed out. He turned to his guards. "Lock this bundle up for a fortnight. She be lying, I know it! Just wait! Mercrov shall reign!" All his guards raised their right talons and raked the air in salute.   
  
"Mercrooov! Mercrooov!"   



	4. When Cosasim Met and a Squirrelmaid Triu...

Deep in the heart of Mossflower Woods, a chattering noise began. It swelled to a nearly deafening level, and, had somebeast parted the trees and looked inside, an amazing sight would have met their eyes.   
  
Cosasim.  
  
At the Congregation of Sparra and Squirrels in Mossflower, creatures lined the trees. Nests bent the upper branches and the multitude of red, brown, and gray bent the lower ones, where squirrels and sparra had gathered in staggering numbers.  
  
Cosasim!  
  
The chattering sound grew steadily until a regal-looking female Sparra and a kingly gray squirrel, both carrying silver shields, nodded to each other and shouted one word aloud in clashing harmony.   
  
"Cosasim!"  
  
The reply rang back.  
  
"Cosasim!"  
  
The Sparra held up her shield so that it reflected the sun, and the clearing fell silent at her signal. When she spoke, her voice, though commanding, was shrill to the verge of comedy.   
  
"Clara Sparra and Branchleap Squirrelworm welcomeyou!"   
  
"Cosasim!"  
  
Now the squirrel held up his shield. His voice rang deep and rich, like a tolling bell. "My friends, Cosasim, this meeting is called in powerful urgency. I ask now that you give full attention to our scouts, who bring important news." He stepped aside, loaning the floor to two young squirrels, both carrying loaded slings. One spoke.   
  
"Noonvale is under attack!"   
  
A panicked chattering began at these words until Clara and Branchleap held up their shields, silencing them. The young squirrel continued. "Crows, led by the notorious Mercrov, have captured Marlinga Reah and are holding her hostage. We don't know why; if we had stayed longer, we'd have been slain by Mercrov's guards."   
  
The other squirrel chimed in with her information. "All we know is that Noonvale, which has never seen war, is now under siege by a vicious army of crows."   
  
"Whatta canwe do?" came one panicked Sparra's voice.   
  
Branchleap cleared his throat and spoke up. "We have friends at Redwall Abbey who claim to possess a riddle. They believe it to be a map to Noonvale in disguise. Abbess Song and her friends should be working on it as we speak."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The little squirrelmaid sat by the Abbey pond and tried to gather strength from watching the tranquil scene. In her left paw rested a bow with the string only tied on one end, and the other end frayed from many attempts. Ever impatient, Avenna Reguba was trying to string a bow and make a quiverful of arrows before anyone else in her family had. Suddenly placing her tongue between her teeth and picking up the bow, she grasped the bottom with both footpaws and the loose end of the string with her right paw. Avenna stretched the bowstring tight and guided it, trembling with tension, to the tiny hook she had made.   
  
"Come on...Come on..."   
  
In a final burst of energy, she pushed the looped end of the string inward and let go. To her vast surprise, she had done it! There, she held a bow that she had made herself...before she was expected to! Avenna sprang up on her footpaws. She ran as fast as she could to Great Hall, shouting "I did it! I finally did it! Father, look!"   
She stopped, however, at the doorway of the Great Hall. Blocking her way was the Abbey Champion and her father, Dannflor Reguba. He was a tall, strong-looking squirrel, and stood with paws akimbo now.   
  
"Avenna? What did you do?" Dann looked stern, but always kept a twinkle in his eye that reminded all young ones that he was once like them.   
  
Breathless from her running, Avenna held up her completed bow with proudly flushed cheeks. "I finally finished my bow! Now I can be a real warrior, father! Just like you!"   
  
Chuckling and abandoning his stern manner, Dann swept his little daughter up onto his broad shoulders. "You did, eh? Wonderful job! I suppose now you'll be wanting to go off and fight some vermin?" He was just teasing; the Abbey had been a place of complete peace since Castle Marl had been defeated. So Dann was very surprised when Avenna bobbed her head up and down eagerly.   
  
"Yes, please!"  
  
He laughed again. "Now, where, pray tell, will we find this vermin horde for you to defeat?"   
  
She shrugged. "Even Mother Abbess doesn't know that. She says it's too much of a riddle, even for her and all the rest of the Abbey Elders. But one thing's for sure: it's got something to do with a place called Noonvale."   
  
Something, some deep instinct deep within Dannflor, was affected by the word. "Noonvale..." He said it as if he was trying to remember a dream. "Never mind, Avenna. Do you know where we might find Abbess Song?"   
  
She giggled. "Maybe she's off fighting the vermin at Noonvale."   
  
"Maybe, Avenna!" He laughed deep in his throat. "Maybe!" 


End file.
